Amphetamines, Vicodin, Prozac, and Caffeine
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: A House and Wilson first time slash fic.  Takes place during season three episode, Resignation.  Warning story contains gay sex, swearing, drug use, and snarky comments.  Wilson has a problem, but he doesn’t want to tell House. Please review, no flames.


Amphetamines, Vicodin, Prozac, and Caffeine: a House and Wilson first time slash fic. Takes place during season three episode, _Resignation_. Warning this story contains guy on guy sex, swearing, drug use, and snarky comments. Wilson has a problem, but he doesn't want to tell House.

"Let's admit we made a mistake,  
but can we still be friends?  
Heartbreaks never easy to take,  
but can we still be friends?  
It's a strange, sad affair,  
sometimes seems like we just don't care.  
Don't waste time feeling hurt.  
We've been through hell together," Todd Rundgren.

"It's personal!" Wilson shouted, squirming as he stood there trying to decide whether he should kill House or just go ahead and get this over with already. _Why can't anything in my life be simple?_ He wondered. 3 failed marriages, a best friend who drugged him with speed, a job where almost everyone he worked with died, an ass for his only real friend, and a crush on said ass. Who wouldn't need antidepressants?

"How long has it been personal?" House asked, pushing harder, searching for the breaking point. James knew what Greg was doing, and rather than trying to hide, he gave in, partially. "You're in love with somebody! Jimmy's got a cru-ush. Jimmy's got a cru-ush," he sang.

"See this is exactly what I need them for." This was not going well. Wilson had admitted to being on the pills in the hopes that the information would be enough to shut his buddy up. House was dangerously close. This was bad.

"They're antidepressants, not anti-annoyances-es." His eyes widened, and the corners of his lips turned up in a huge smile. James knew that from this moment on, nothing would ever be the same between them again…assuming there even was a between the two of them now, assuming House wouldn't be disgusted by the crush. "You're in love. You're in love with me! Oh, poor Wilson. If only people knew. You're more screwed up than I am, you know that, right?"

"Shut up. I'm leaving now," he shouted, and started for the door. House, in a rare and lucky move, managed to get there first, and stood blocking the only exit. "Can we get this over with? I have patients to see and you have a whole cupboard full of cups you haven't peed in yet. We both have busy after—what the hell are you doing?" Wilson exclaimed as House's smooth, soft fingers caressed his right cheek. Those pure blue, ocean-like eyes didn't close, but suddenly they were only millimeters apart, Wilson didn't want to stare, but he couldn't close his eyes, he didn't care what happened, when House found out what he had been doing for the past few weeks. He was going to soak up every minuet detail of this experience, and then Greg was—probably—never going to speak to him again.

When their lips touched it was everything he had dreamed of and more. Houses mouth was soft, and scratchy, sweet, and sticky, wet, and smooth, amazing. Wilson fumbled helplessly at first, putting his tongue in all the wrong places at the exact wrong time, but soon he discovered his friend's rhythm, and decided to let the older man lead, as usual. House's mouth gobbled up his lips, tongues, tonsils, and anything else they could get. His expert hands ripped both of their shirts away, as he pushed James towards the bedroom, and leaned on him at the same time.

House's hands were on Wilson's pants. Then they were in his pants, pulling his pants off. Then they were inside his boxers, sliding his underwear off, while Wilson tried to d the same. He was confused, excited, happy, sad, scared, and grateful all at the same time. And when House's hands wrapped around his hard cock, he almost came right there. Then Greg was inside of him, and he was screaming, "I love you."

Later James tried to cuddle close, but House was already standing up, getting dressed, and then began hobbling to the kitchen, mumbling something about a beer. Wilson raced to the bathroom, and stood under the scalding hot shower until it turned to ice. Then he got out, dressed himself, and joined his friend who had left an open bottle on the table.

"There's noting in that except beet, but if you don't want it, I'll be more than happy to take it off your hands." Wilson grabbed it, swallowing half the alcohol in one painful gulp. His lover stared, half amused, half impressed and smiled to. They didn't talk much that night. Neither one could think of anything to say, and Wilson felt like crap. Luckily Greg was perfectly happy (after popping a few extra Vicodin) to lie in his bedroom, holding James's body in the dark, without talking. Wilson laid in House's bed—God, he couldn't believe it had actually happened—his face pressed into the soft cottony warmth of the other man's t-shirt covered chest.

"Thanks," he whispered, and then felt an extreme to add, "Not for the speed thing, I'm still going to get you back for that one, eventually, but for not freaking out when you heard, what I said—thanks for not hating and kicking me out on my ass." He didn't respond, except to nod and kiss James on the forehead, a thin smile on his face.

"Don't tell anybody about this, okay? There's no wail I'll be able to nail—what's her name, the nutritionist—if everyone thinks I'm gay."

"I'm not," Wilson blurted the words out suddenly, but a soft finger over his lips kept him from continuing.

"I know," he explained. "You can stay for tonight, but I've got a date tomorrow night, so you might have to clear out for a couple of hours."

"More like five minutes," Wilson snipped back, snarkily. House laughed, and patted him on the back, roughly. The rest of the day the two men had no chance to see each other, and so they said nothing, but Greg only had to dial Jimmy's number in order to get the younger man to come over.

When he arrived, there was the sound of the showed running, and House singing to himself. At the kitchen table there was a bottle of beer and a note. _Not spiked. No pee. _ Wilson smiled, unscrewed the cap, sat down on House's couch, and started to watch a movie on cable, but he was only half paying attention.

Soon he heard House limping from room to room, and stood up, crossed to his side, and hugged him. House leaned in, pressing his chin against Wilson's shoulder, and sort of giggled, a manly giggle though.

"And, Jimmy, if you ever try and slip me antidepressants again, I'll tell everyone in the hospital about this whole thing. See I can say it's just sex, but you…you love me." He laughed again, smiling, and pushing back towards the bedroom again. Wilson noticed that his breath smelled sort of sweet. "Peppermint tea, anything to nail a gorgeous chick," he explained, as they began to pull their clothes off. "Which is why I'm not gonna keep taking the pills, since you know that I know and—well I already nailed _you_."

Wilson heard himself say, "Whatever," even though he didn't agree. He just knew an un-winnable battle when he saw one, and there was no way to change House's mind. Besides, nothing—not even House being happy—was worth losing what he had now.


End file.
